


Don't Leave Me Alone

by kayisdreaming



Series: Odin Sphere Ficlets [7]
Category: Odin Sphere
Genre: F/M, I like them being cute, been kicking this one around for a while, but I also like sad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: A sweet moment in bed turns to worry, pain, and anger.





	Don't Leave Me Alone

It was a strange sensation still, to wake in someone’s arms. It did not matter how long she had been doing this, or how natural it had become to fall into it. Certainly, Gwendolyn knew she had difficulty sleeping now, if he was not there.

  
She shifted slightly in his arms so she could look up at his face. He slept still, though she knew the risk of moving too much. Both had too long a past of attempted assassinations. Deep sleep was still but a luxury, even if the threat was almost nil. Still, even so, she could not figure out why she was not still sleeping. The castle seemed quiet, nothing aside from the flap of tapestries or the brush of winds against stone. Her eyelids were still heavy with needed sleep, so it wasn’t as if she was well-rested.

  
Closing her eyes again, Gwendolyn pressed closer to Oswald. He seemed to think himself cold and sharp, but his presence never seemed to bring her anything ill—only ease. She could feel his breath across her hair, the warmth of his arms around her waist. Normally, it would lull her back to sleep, but . . .

  
“Are you well?” Oswald whispered, his arms pulling her just a bit closer. His voice was just a bit huskier than normal, still languid with sleep.

  
“Yes.” She replied.

  
He hummed a response, shifting so he might run his fingers slowly through her hair. Gwendolyn smiled slightly up at him, enjoying the moment. He was not expressive by nature—no worse than her, though. But in these moments, his smile was soft, his gaze so full of the love that she could only pray he saw in hers. She wished it could last forever.

  
But it didn’t last even close. No longer than a few minutes, really, before he glanced back toward the doorway that led to the rest of the castle. She couldn’t quite make out his expression in the dark. But he shifted away more, moving to rise out of the bed.

  
Gwendolyn propped herself up, hoping her concern didn’t share as much on her face. He didn’t allow her the moment to speak, though, instead gently taking her hand and kissing it.

  
“I will return.” He spoke, lips brushing over her skin. “Please rest; I will rejoin you soon.”

  
She wanted to argue with him, curiosity pressing. But his expression gave no room for argument, and she only nodded in response. He smiled, and turned out of the room.  
Gwendolyn watched as he left, until the darkness obscured him completely. With a sigh, she slid back into the bed, forcing her eyes closed. The mattress was still warm from where he had been, and she placed a hand there for the temporary comfort till his return. Exhaustion defeated her and quickly she fell into sleep.

  
A sleep that was shattered with a shrill cry that echoed in the walls. Gwendolyn sat up quickly, knowing it was not her imagination. Hoping it wasn’t. She stilled, listening. Her heart thudded in her ears, making it difficult but not impossible, and yet she heard nothing. And, as her pulse settled, it was easier. But the result was the same.

  
Was it a dream? Gwendolyn let out a breath, running her hands over her face. She tried to block out the sound from her mind by rubbing her eyes. Whatever the dream was, it was lost on her. So she could not blame that with certainty. Sighing, she pushed her hands up to run it up through her hair.

  
It was then that she saw her spear glimmering in the moonlight by the door. It was then that she stilled completely, blood feeling icy. It was then she realized that Oswald’s sword was not there.

  
With a curse not befitting a princess, she leapt out of bed. It did not matter if she was not in armor—that was too much time to waste. It would not be worthwhile to be safe and watch anything happen to him. She hurried out of the room, grabbing her spear with such ferocity that the tip scraped hard against the stone floor.  
At first, there was nothing. No sound, no signs, nothing. She did not even know if she was headed the correct direction. But then there were the bodies. A trail of fairy corpses littered the halls, the sheer number practically a guiding path to her heart.

  
_Titrel_ , she thought. They came to claim it.

  
With the thought, she began to hear the sound of combat. It was faint, the click of metal against metal. The more she followed the bodies, the louder it became. She could hear the shouts, the curses, the groans of pain and death. She knew the sound should make her worry, but all it did was give her relief. At least it meant he was alive. And so she ran harder.

  
It was the dining hall, she realized, that had become the center of battle. There were a fair number of fairies still there, but not nearly as many as those fading to phozon. They seemed to struggle in the darkness, unable to fight what they could not see. Some cursed and struck at the darkness, but to no avail as they were cut down. And yet, it did not seem entirely as if their numbers would be so easily quelled.

  
Gwendolyn scanned the room first in vain to find her husband. Upon realization, and the adrenaline itself quickening her mind, she knew that it wasn’t nothing that the fairies were fighting. Oswald had taken advantage of the night. Enshrouding himself in darkness, he was almost undetectable, except for the flash of a ruby sword. He was almost too quick for the eyes to catch.

  
But, as she knew very well, he could not hold that form for long. Despite the body count, still too many fairies lasted when he had to release the shadows and return to his normal form. She could see it now. His breathing was labored, almost painful. Sweat made his hair heavy, some sticking to his forehead. His attention and body followed the movements of the fairies, but it was sluggish. While he still could strike at his enemies, surely he would not last.

  
Gwendolyn, knowing him safe for the moment, charged in. Her nightgown made her movements difficult, but she had fought in more strained situations before. And she had her fair share of fairy corpses littering her past. She made easy work of them with her spear, not giving them the chance to adjust. And certainly not letting them nearer to him.

  
When the last fairy’s armor clanked against the ground, she knew she had won. She let her spear drink in the phozons, grateful for its assistance. It would make her stronger, she knew. It would make her moves quicker, her attacks less difficult.

  
Exhaling softly, she turned to face her husband. The sight of him made her chest tighten, and her stomach clench into a knot.

  
Oswald was hunched over on the floor, down on one knee. He clutched at his chest, each breath all the more pained and painful to hear. She had never seen him so pale, so much so that he nearly glowed in the moonlight.

  
Gwendolyn hurried to catch him before he collapsed entirely to the floor. He did not seem to have any energy left in him. Not even enough to keep his eyes open, or his breathing under control. He was badly injured, she knew, but there was also the damage from the shadows that she knew she could never comprehend. She pulled him up closer, not allowing herself the luxury of an emotional response. He was alive, but he needed tending.

  
It was a struggle, but she carried him to their room and placed him gently upon their bed. She knew Myris would likely have a fit of worry, seeing the sheets so bloodied. But, if Oswald was awake at that time, it wouldn’t matter.

  
She spent a long time bandaging his wounds, making use of the little skill she had to tend to him. She was better at this long ago, when she had to travel alone. When tending to herself made her stronger and more capable—lest she fall. It had always been an idle thought that being here had made her weaker. The feeling of anger and worry bubbling in her chest and threaten to break her just beneath the surface made her certain that was so.

 

 

The first thing Oswald felt was pain. It was a dull ache that started in his chest, only becoming more intense as he realized the pain spread through his arms and legs. It certainly was no comparison to how he felt before, what little he could remember, but still.

  
When he opened his eyes, he was greeted to both a blessing and a surprise. Gwendolyn looked down upon him—his arm, really—but with an expression he had never seen before. Anger had not been so prominent when he had pinned her in the ruins of Valentine. Nor had it been so strong the first time she knew herself as his wife. Perhaps it was this glare that had earned her the title of “Odin’s Witch”. Surely, it could kill the weakest man. It could most certainly kill him, to know he could enrage her so.

  
“Gwendolyn.” He muttered, his voice sounding nothing at all right. His throat was dry, the words painful.

  
But it had done its job, and caught her attention.

 

She looked down at him. The anger was still prominent, but it seemed soft, in a strange way. Perhaps, though, it was only his assumption of her partiality.

  
“Does it hurt?” She asked.

  
He opened his mouth, but did not yet press the words. Everything hurt. He could not pick a specific one to even respond in full to her question. His limbs felt on fire, though it seemed that the blaze burned much less than it had even minutes before. “It is tolerable. Nothing to be concerned with.”

  
“Shame.” She muttered, tone as icy as when they had first met face-to-face. “Perhaps it would have taught you something.”

 

He winced at the force of her bandaging, though she didn’t seem particularly satisfied.

  
“Are you upset with me?” He asked, asking the obvious.

  
She pulled again too tight, but did not press a third time. He watched as her expression fell, cheeks reddening and eyes shining just a little more. This was one, he was certain, that he had also never seen.

  
“You were not far from death.” She whispered.

  
Oswald frowned. “We had intruders, and they needed to be handled.”

  
Gwendolyn’s hand left his wrapping, instead brushing down his arm to take his hand. Her fingers wrapped gently around it, carefully pulling it to her lips. Her eyes caught his, a tear running down her cheek. The guilt and shame stung more than any of his wounds.

  
“Please.” She whispered. “I wish to fight alongside you. I do not . . . wish to be left behind.”

  
There was no way he could fight against it, even if he wished. Even if he wanted to protect her and keep her safe. If it meant this pain would be her only companion in his absence, he could not allow it. And so he agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I have like 3 ideas left, but work made it hard to write. I'll try to get back on the bandwagon. Still open to some ideas though.


End file.
